The heat from the water steamed the washroom and fogged the brass mirror that hung upon the wall. Streaks of light entered from the shuttered windows and captured the bravest motes of light as they danced back and forth as if spurred on by an unknown and unseen force.

The bath Alexandria reclined in was grand, its shape formed so smoothly that it at times seemed more cushioned furniture than beaten metal. It's form captured the heat of the water and seemed to freeze it with all its inherent intensity until it would suddenly seem too cold and too gentle across her skin.

But it had not done so yet and that, Alexandria was immensely thankful for as she reclined against the almost too hot body of the bath as soap muddied water lapped at her chin. Alexandria's fingers danced just below the surface and she found herself imagining her fingers as brushes that painted memories and thoughts and imaginations through the clouded water.

Moments like this gave her the time to think, time to lose herself and the time to imagine whatever it was she found her mind content to conjure. But the patterns throughout the searing heat that enveloped her did more than just distract the mind. At times when it was cold, at times when she had worked just a little too hard, it seemed to ease the aches of her body, it seemed to soothe the pains that littered her flesh. One of her hands danced against the side of body, it fluttered across the barest hints of her ribs and it perhaps subconsciously brushed against the scar that tore into her stomach before it seemed to settle somewhere deep in the water as it always did.

Alexandria took in a deep breath and she let her lungs fill with the heat of the air before she slipped down beneath the water's surface. Heat swallowed her whole, it crashed against her face and she let her hands splay out and put pressure against the sides of the bath as she kept herself steady.

Within her mind, when her eyes were closed and all she could feel was the heat of the water and all she could hear was the beating of her heart within her ears, she could truly lose herself to the past, to the years she had spent somewhere so very far away it seemed more dream than memory.

Barely there flashes of things came and went through her mind. Moments of levity were often swallowed, consumed and devoured by pain, by anger, fear and hurt and loss and something she couldn't quite put her finger on.

She had regrets, she had wants and hopes and things she wished she could remember, things she wished she could touch and people she wished she could recall. And she had frustrations, she had acceptance and understanding and a myriad of other emotions that she dared not face.

If only because she didn't know the woman she couldn't recall.

She could have stayed submerged within the searing heat, she could have stayed cocooned with the warmth and the isolation forever, but Alexandria's lungs broke before her mind ever did.

She pushed herself up above the heat and she embraced the rush of cold that cascaded against her scorched face as she took in a breath that was as fresh and as vibrant as she had once though the forests to be.

One hand came up and swept back the hair from her eyes, the barest hints of burning etched themselves into her eyes as soap, as scents and ointments dared test her resolve. But she didn't care too much for pain had become a friend in her isolation.

But she thought she had spent too long within the embrace of the heat and so she steeled herself before she rose with little effort and little noise. Water streamed down her body, it danced against the lines of her flesh and it began to fall back into the bath as she took a gingerly step over the basin's lip and came to stand atop a fur so warm it must have come from the furthest parts of the northern lands.

Alexandria reached for the towel that was folded atop a chair and she found herself falling into its softness as she slowly began to wipe away the remnants of the heat, all the while her body seemingly unsure whether it was too hot or too cold in the air.

Before too long Alexandria stood bare in the centre of the washroom, a thick fur underfoot and her gaze focused on the shimmering reflection in the mirror before her.

The woman who looked back seemed partly familiar and partly unknown to her. Long brown hair clung to her neck, to her shoulders and cascaded down her back. Eyes that at times seemed emerald and at times seemed hazel looked back at her with an expression she couldn't place.

So much of her life was a mystery and so much was known. Scars littered her body, some small, some so minuscule that most wouldn't notice. Others were deeper, richer, vibrant in existence and painful in sight. But the one that always stole her attention, the one she knew to be responsible for the way her life had turned out always stuck out to her. Seeing it seemed even more painful than its presence.

Alexandria had seen enough wounds and scars upon warriors in her youth to recognise the wound to be from Mountain tech. She recognised the severity of the wound, its placement and its brutality for what it must have meant. But even after all the years it seemed strange and so very disconnected to her life before and her life after, the in-between something unknown and too hazy.

She never dared asked Heda, she never dared give voice to her questions. Perhaps in part because she didn't wish for Heda to relive whatever must have happened, and perhaps in part because her training and every instinct in her body told her not to question what the spirit commanded.

But still, Alexandria's gaze moved from the scar and to the tattoo that graced her upper arm. And that too was bizarre, if only because she remembered the first two sigils that twisted and etched upon her skin. She remembered sitting in the chair as a youth, she remembered the pain of the needles as they cut into her flesh and left behind the markings whose designs she had slaved over. But the third set, the ones that sat above were a mystery, were something that must have meant something but was now lost with the spirit's passing.

And perhaps that was sad.

But it was an acceptance for the things that had come and that had passed.

And so Alexandria shook her thoughts and began to dress, her thoughts content to wander to times more concrete within her mind.


Alexandria was halfway through tying a knot into her hair when she stepped out from the washroom. The door swung shut behind her with a gentle thud and she found herself walking towards the sounds of conversation that drifted through her home's interior.

She turned a corner of a hallway to find Brutus lounging in a dark shadow, the heat of the day enough to temper whatever energies he had in the cooler months. Alexandria paused by his side and she knelt down as her hands came to card through his thick fur.

Brutus seemed to enjoy the patting for he shifted onto his back, paws flailing in the air as he snuffed and smiled out an awkward sound.

"Good boy, Brutus," Alexandria crooned ever so quietly as Brutus licked at her palm, her fingers happy to scratch under his mighty chin.

Brutus had become a familial companion over the years. She had been enamoured with the wolf dog when she had first arrived, Brutus at the time nothing more than a pup with too strong an instinct to bite any whose fingers delved too close to him in his excitement. But his age had tempered that habit thankfully for Alexandria was sure should Brutus wish to bite he could and would leave many lacking a finger or five.

"Come, Brutus," Alexandria said as she rose and beckoned him forward.

And so Brutus snuffed just once in curiosity as he rose with her, his body quick to fall into step with her shadow as they both began to walk towards the voices that could be heard.

It took only a few more short steps before Brutus and Alexandria broke free from the never ending hallway and into the main living space. Eamon sat at the main table, his hands resting atop its surface, one hand clutching at a mug of cool drink. Agamemnon sat in another chair, the old man's eyes crinkled in laughter with one hand surreptitiously braced against the table's edge to keep himself upright.

But Alexandria's gaze fell to the newcomer who sat at the head of the table, whose head of crimson hair shone a brilliance flaming red in the sunlight that streamed in from open windows.

For some reason Alexandria didn't find it surprising that the Commander had come instead of the messenger, and so she bowed her head and took a seat.

"The border skirmishes have lessened in recent times," Athena said quietly in way of greeting and explanation.

"That is good, Heda," Alexandria said before she smiled at Agamemnon who passed her a small beaker of drink with only a partly exaggerated groan of effort.

"I see Brutus is well," Athena said with a smile as she reached down and began to ruffle the dog's mighty head from where he had come to lounge at her feet.

"Brutus does not enjoy the summers so often now," Eamon said as his gaze followed the motion.

"No," and Athena smiled a little sadly as she let her hands come to clasp together atop the table. "I would expect not," she said as she looked over to the kitchen bench and at the basket of apples had been recently picked. "Eamon tells me this season's pickings are extra sweet," Athena said with a lightness in her voice.

"They are," Alexandria answered with her own small smile as she glanced over to the basket.

But Alexandria had known the Commander for years now, she had seen the child grow into woman and ruler and Commander and she couldn't help but to wonder, but to consider and to ponder every little thing she saw.

"I do not wish to be rude, Heda," Alexandria said ever so softly, and she watched as Eamon's eyes flashed the barest hints of a warning before he simply resigned himself to the coming exchange. "But why are you here?" she knew Agamemnon looked at her with something not quite amused and not quite reprimanding.

"That is a fair question to ask, Lexa," Athena said as she turned her attention to her.

The use of that name sent a shiver down Alexandria's spine, if only because she dared not use it, not when she found herself so undeserving of what it had once represented.

But she shook her thoughts and met Athena's gaze with her own, and perhaps Alexandria expected to see anger, annoyance, frustration or shock at being questioned, but instead of any of the things she expected to see, all she could see was loss, was a deep emotion that she could't place and a sadness that seemed all too consuming for her to gaze upon for too much longer.

And so Alexandria looked away, she turned her attention to the beaker in her hand and she tried not to let her mind wander to whatever memories Athena must have been reliving.

"I have not visited as much as I should," Athena said after a moment. "I have not visited as much as I wished to," she continued and this time Alexandria heard the sadness in Athena's voice she had seen in her eyes. "I—"

"You do not need to explain to us, Heda," Eamon said, and though his voice was low, though he didn't raise his voice, it seemed to cut into the conversation with ease.

"Perhaps not, Eamon," Athena said as she looked at the man, and though Athena's lips parted as if she was to say more, no sound followed except for a quietly breath that seemed too unsure for such a presence.

Alexandria's gaze moved to Agamemnon to find the man looking at Athena with an intensity that seemed far too knowing.

"How are the clans, Heda?" Agamemnon asked, the question blunt, soft and simple.

"Well, Agamemnon," Athena replied as she looked at the elderly man.

"That is goo—" a cough interrupted him and Alexandria winced as his shoulders hunched and his body seemed to convulse a little too forcefully.

"Here," Alexandria said quickly as she rose from her chair and pressed the beaker into his hands as she began to lift it to his lips, "drink."

Another cough wracked the elderly man before he managed to get his breathing under control enough to take a slight sip from the beaker, and Alexandria didn't miss that the sip he took seemed far too small for it to do much more than wet his lips, and she made a mental note to scold him in private and away from Athena and even Eamon.

"Thank you," he smiled, his voice hoarse and quiet as he squeezed her hand before she sat back down in her chair.

"I visited Skaikru recently," Athena said after a moment, and Alexandria turned back to the Commander to find her looking at Agamemnon with something between sadness and longing. "Their tech is already helping the clans in the heat of this summer," she said with a warm smile. "You would not believe that they have the knowledge to cool entire buildings."

"Perhaps we should have that tech brought here," Eamon said as he gestured to Brutus who now lay under the table, the only thing visible of him being his tail that swished back and forth lazily in the heat.

"I will arrange for that to happen," Athena said, and Alexandria found the Commander's words to be sincere.

"Thank you, Heda," Eamon said.

There was a silence then, and Alexandria found herself meeting Athena's gaze as the Commander seemed to take in everything she must have been seeing. She wondered what she looked like to Athena, she wondered what any of them looked like to her, and part of her wondered if they seemed nothing more than a shadow of their past lives, if they seemed pathetic, broken, discarded weapons or vessels long past being useful. But Alexandria's thoughts were broken by a single utterance that seemed to convey something that should have meant more than it did to her.

"I spoke with Wanheda," Athena said, and Alexandria found that the Commander's gaze drilled into her yet again.

"She is well?" Alexandria asked and she knew she must have once met this woman, this fable and legend and warrior of the sky, if only because she had been Commander when the Mountain fell.

"She is well," Athena said and Alexandria found herself not liking the way the Commander's emotions seemed so very open to her in the moment.

"I do not blame her for seeking refuge from all people," Eamon said and as Alexandria turned to the man she found herself realising that he had not recognised the emotions that were present, or perhaps she had simply been the one to misread whatever it was within the Commander's gaze.

"No," Athena said with a sad smile as she turned her attention to Eamon. "I, too, do not blame her."

Conversation began to flow more freely then but through it all Alexandria found herself unsettled by the way Athena had looked at her with an emotion she slowly began to recognise as love. Or loss. Perhaps regret? Maybe even bittersweet longing.

And perhaps it was simply nothing at all.